


Continental Crush

by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf



Series: Te wo Tsunaide [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff in a time of lockdown, Innuendo, Inspired by Art, M/M, Shower Sex, Vacation fluff, gratuitous flirting, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Silmari%C3%ABn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: It’s the fifth day of Mr Urahara and Mr Ichigo’s stay at Shangri-La The Shard, and today they're enjoying the facilities the hotel has to offer.Which, naturally, includes the Infinity Skypool and their personal butler service.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Series: Te wo Tsunaide [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573243
Comments: 44
Kudos: 425
Collections: Dick or Treat - Scrohto Region, UraIchi Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheshireCaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCaine/gifts).



> A fluffy gift for the lockdown~
> 
> Also written for Dick or Treat 2020 (a smutfic whose title must be a Pokemon move) sorry I couldn't resist the pun hahaha.

It’s the fifth day of Mr Urahara and Mr Ichigo’s stay at Shangri-La The Shard.

Contrary to every single one of Rajan’s expectations, he has yet to spot a single purchase from Oxford Circus or Regent Street. Instead, the only things on the coffee table are pamphlets and souvenirs from the likes of Stratford-upon-Avon, the Charles Dickens museum, Warwick Castle, and strangely enough a Jack the Ripper tour.

Well, whatever floats their boat.

Today they’re having a day in to enjoy the facilities the hotel has to offer. Rajan knows that, because it’s the first time he has needed to serve them lunch this week – the finest Italian cuisine London has to offer, tomato crostinis and herby twelve-hour slow-braised oxtail lasagne with truffle ravioli and a margherita pizza so generously sized it makes him wonder how the two of them can finish it all and still maintain their figure. It’s been four days, and he still remembers those beautiful washboard abs on Urahara.

Though he had to beat a hasty retreat from the room when Urahara began paying more attention to the way Ichigo was licking strings of mozzarella off his fingers than his own meal…

But that was lunch, and it’s now mid-afternoon, though it might not be any better given that Rajan is being summoned to the Infinity Skypool. Where, presumably, one or perhaps _both_ of them will be wearing nothing but swimming trunks. Hopefully not speedos, or he’s going to have a pretty uncomfortable afternoon.

He glances down at the cocktail blend of vanilla ice cream, strawberries and vodka sitting on his tray as he presses the button for the 52nd floor. Why, of all the drink options, did Urahara choose to order a Love Potion #9? Does he like the movie or something?

The lift stops at the top floor with a cheery little ding, the doors sliding open. Rajan takes a deep breath, mentally girds himself, and exits the staff lift.

As befitting the run-up to the New Year, the Infinity Skypool is more crowded than usual. Rajan picks carefully through the throng, until he gets to the couch reserved for VIP guests. Urahara is, perhaps not so surprisingly, seated at one end of the couch with his phone pressed to his ear, a laptop balanced on his knees. He nods distractedly as Rajan sets the cocktail down on the table in front of him, scrolls through a few pages and then says something in Japanese into the phone.

He’s wearing what looks like a loose green bathrobe, carelessly belted at the waist to reveal a great swathe of bare chest. Rajan wrenches his eyes from following the open robe all the way down and steps away. The fact that Urahara is taking what looks like a business call at the pool makes it obvious that Ichigo must be somewhere around; swimming, maybe? There’s a glass of water already on the table in front of Urahara, next to a large fluffy towel that must be Ichigo’s.

A commotion coming from the other end of the pool catches his attention, and Rajan looks over just in time to see Ichigo ascending the ladder steps like Aphrodite rising from the foam-tipped waves.

He stares.

Droplets of water rolls off Ichigo’s skin, perfectly emphasising the way those wet square-cut shorts are clinging almost obscenely to his ass and thighs, leaving practically nothing to the imagination. Rajan has seen him in a T-shirt and shorts before, but that’s nothing compared how those biceps look glistening wet, or the sleek power in those long, long legs.

Somebody – _not_ him – definitely just moaned involuntarily.

Rajan can’t help but glance back at Urahara, but the blond is so focused on his phone conversation that he hasn’t even looked up.

He may very well be the only one; there isn’t a second person at the pool whose attention isn’t transfixed by Ichigo right now, whether in lust or in envy.

Ichigo himself appears oblivious to all the attention. After climbing out of the pool, he turns to head in Urahara’s – and by proxy, Rajan’s – direction.

Wow, he really can’t fault whoever it was for moaning; the latex fits Ichigo like a second skin, the hint of a bulge just barely visible from his angle. In fact, Rajan is so distracted that it takes him a few seconds to realise Ichigo has stopped coming closer.

He blinks.

Ichigo has half-turned and is conversing with several women. He looks sort of confused; they must’ve called out to him as he passed, and it doesn’t take a genius to realise what’s going on.

Rajan takes another look at Urahara, who is still on the phone, and picks up the glass of water to give himself an excuse to intercede.

“– plans for dinner?” he hears one of the women ask as he gets nearer.

Ichigo shakes his head, looking utterly bamboozled. “I... don’t think so?”

They don’t, as far as Rajan is aware. Urahara had muttered something about finding some good fish and chips, but he has yet to place an official order.

As he suspects, Ichigo doesn’t seem to have picked up on the insinuations at all. Maybe it’s a translation issue, maybe it’s natural obliviousness, or maybe Ichigo spends so much time around highly attractive people that he doesn’t recognise his own sex appeal.

… nah. There can’t be that many hot guys in Japan.

“Here is your water, Sir.”

Ichigo practically lights up at the interruption, turning away from the stilted conversation he is having with the giggling women immediately to accept the glass. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his head in the little nod Rajan has come to understand is the Japanese way of showing gratitude.

Ignoring the glares from the assorted women, Rajan takes the empty glass back from Ichigo and bows neatly, like he’s showing Ichigo to his seat. “Sir, this way please.”

If Ichigo hasn’t realised that they’re trying to hit on him, Rajan is not going to be the one to explain exactly how happily taken he is to both parties.

Urahara gives Ichigo the same distracted nod as he did to Rajan earlier when Ichigo comes up next to him. Ichigo doesn’t look upset at that, just grabs his towel and begins scrubbing himself dry furiously. His movements slow as he continues listening to the one-sided conversation, a tiny furrow appearing between his eyebrows. Eventually, he towels both hands properly dry, drapes the towel around his shoulders and points at the phone, making a gesture even Rajan can recognise as _give it to me_.

Rajan expects Urahara to refuse, but Urahara simply hands the phone over with no hesitation.

“Ichigo desu,” Ichigo says into the receiver, followed by a long string of Japanese Rajan can’t follow. He glances over at Urahara instead, who does not seem to be concerned or upset that Ichigo has just commandeered his phone and is now reaching for his laptop.

Ichigo rattles off what sounds like instructions into the phone, and then rolls his eyes at Urahara.

Urahara simply laughs softly and finally reaches for his untouched cocktail drink.

Ichigo’s eyes narrow. He tilts the receiver away from his mouth and asks, “Nani kore?”

That, Rajan actually understood. _What is this?_

Inexplicably, Urahara grins. He responds with something that _probably_ isn’t Japanese for “Love Potion #9” and takes a large sip.

“It’s strawberry,” Ichigo says in English, in a very unimpressed tone.

That just makes Urahara’s grin widen. “I like strawberry,” he replies, licking the leftover strawberry cream from his lips.

Rajan has no idea why that causes Ichigo to flush a bright red. Maybe it’s because the strawberry cream sort of looks like come?

Ichigo says something in rapid Japanese into the phone, waits for a reply, and then hangs up. “You are too nice,” he complains in English, handing the phone back to Urahara. “Do paperwork on vacation?” He begins closing the windows on the laptop, and then pauses.

After a moment, Rajan realises why.

There’s a browser window open, declaring in large font KINKY ORGASM followed by a picture of a cocktail.

Slowly, Ichigo looks up from the laptop and over to Urahara, who’s still casually sipping his cocktail. His eyebrows creep higher.

Urahara shrugs. He reaches over and scrolls slightly further up.

POP MY CHERRY, declares the new drink. Incongruously, there’s another strawberry studded on the rim of the glass.

“This is not cherry,” Ichigo mutters. His cheeks are still faintly flushed, and it’s such an unfairly good look on him that Rajan is having some trouble looking away.

“Also, a bit late for this,” Urahara comments idly. Well, that settles the question of whether they understand the innuendo or not.

Ichigo just snorts, but he doesn’t refute it. It’s still far more than Rajan has _ever_ wanted to know about their sex life, oh my god. Thankfully, they aren’t paying him any attention.

Ichigo pauses briefly on the cocktail labelled Blow Job, but he moves on until –

“Tie Me to the Bedpost,” Ichigo reads out loud, his voice flat, and then turns his head to regard Urahara.

Urahara smirks.

Ichigo’s cheeks darken again, and he hastily scrolls down further.

“Twist and Shout,” he reads off the screen, and then turns to Rajan, who nearly jumps at the sudden attention. “I’ll have this one.”

Urahara leans over to read the description, and then laughs. “Of course. The one with chocolate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that's what my Google search history will show today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for the quality of the art this chapter; unfortunately half the picture comes from an era where HD was not really a thing so I can't do anything about the resolution.
> 
> Ichigo is from official Kubo art  
> Kisuke is from the Bleach anime OP _Tonight, Tonight, Tonight_

Rajan knocks loudly on the door before he enters very, very slowly.

He’s right to have been cautious.

The two of them are seated on opposite ends of the couch, but there’s no hiding the fact that Ichigo’s lips are a shiny bitten-red and there’s a throw cushion casually propped in his lap, or that Urahara’s polo shirt is exceedingly rumpled, the collar pulled askew to reveal a faint cluster of hickeys just barely visible on his collarbone.

Rajan picks his way over carefully, avoiding the laptop that has been incongruously abandoned on the floor. It’s quite clear that he has interrupted something, but Urahara was the one who had asked for dinner to be sent up at this time. Maybe Ichigo had been so hungry that he decided to start gnawing on Urahara instead.

Which leads to thoughts of eating out and – no, bad imagination! Bad!

At least the infamous Japanese courtesy keeps them a polite distance from each other while he’s in the room.

“Fish and chips from my favourite shop in London, Sirs.”

Ichigo quirks an eyebrow at Urahara, but doesn’t say anything about the highly unorthodox order. At least Rajan swung by the kitchens and ditched the takeout bags for actual plates and silverware first.

“Who knows best place more than a local?” Urahara asks rhetorically, already picking up his fork and knife.

Maybe it’s another cultural difference; in his experience in this industry, folks who normally get a suite at a five-star hotel usually stick to food cooked by gourmet chefs, not little hole-in-the-walls that their butler will frequent.

At least they’re definitely enjoying it. Ichigo is practically inhaling his food, and Urahara isn’t eating much slower.

“Any plan for tonight?” Ichigo asks as he pops his last chip into his mouth.

Urahara shakes his head. “Does Mr Rajan have a suggestion?”

Rajan blinks, but at least he no longer startles when they include him in their conversations. Still, it doesn’t mean he’s prepared to answer this question. What would he recommend for a night-time activity… “Er, clubbing?” He winces slightly at the lilt at the end of his sentence, but it’s too late to take it back.

Urahara frowns. “A… _club_?” The way he’s squinting dubiously makes it clear that he’s thinking of a blunt weapon instead of dancing.

Both of Ichigo’s brows shoot up at Rajan’s suggestion, so at least one of them understood him and Rajan did not have to resort to, say, awkward pantomime.

Ichigo says something in Japanese, but Urahara does not look any less confused. He continues talking, and whatever he’s saying makes Urahara nod slowly,

“Can call a cab for us?” Ichigo switches back to English. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs Urahara by the wrist and tows him into their bedroom, leaving Rajan to stare at their retreating backs.

Somehow, he’s not sure the gay clubbing scene is going to survive that night.

* * *

Ichigo laughs a little awkwardly when they exit the bedroom again and Rajan very nearly drops his tray.

Well, at least he now knows they look good.

“Club has no…” he frowns, what’s the word… “ _uniform_ , right?”

Rajan blinks rapidly, but to his credit he gets what Ichigo means instantly. “No, no dress code.” He pauses slightly and clears his throat. “What you’re wearing is more than fine.”

Ichigo glances down at what he’s wearing, and then over at Kisuke. Well, he’s certainly glad that one of his older punk sweatshirts and an open studded leather vest makes for appropriate clubbing wear, and even gladder than Kisuke does possess modern human casualwear.

Neither of them has been to a club before, but this isn’t Karakura Town, or even Japan. Even if one of them screws up here, they can blame it on cultural differences or just never come back again. This whole trip has been all about trying new things.

Just for one night.

Just for one night, he wants to try something totally crazy.

The cab drops them in front of a club with a deep, pulsating beat, something Ichigo can hear even before he sets foot inside. He grins. Kisuke still looks slightly wary, but Ichigo has already explained that humans enjoy dancing very close to each other in the presence of loud music and alcohol, and even though Kisuke doesn’t get the appeal at all he’s willing to give it a try. The crowd is packed, Ichigo explains, but humans are not normally subjected to assassination attempts.

Even if one is to occur that night, Ichigo has Blut Vene and a very sharp pendant, and Kisuke has one knife in a shoulder holster and another in his boot.

At least Rajan picked a place where they are less likely to stand out, Ichigo notes. The crowd is comprised almost entirely of men – of a certain persuasion, given the looks that he’s been getting. He’s fairly certain these stares aren’t because of his strange hair colour, given that he’s seeing shades of red, blue, purple, and even one bubblegum pink.

Kisuke takes a step closer. They weren’t very far apart in the first place, but now Kisuke is near enough to put an arm around Ichigo’s waist if he reaches out, which is closer than he usually likes to be in public.

“Relax,” Ichigo mutters in Japanese, although it comes out as more of a half-shout given the volume of the music.

“People are _staring_ ,” Kisuke hisses in the same language, his reiatsu curling around Ichigo defensively.

Ichigo pats his arm consolingly. “They just think you look hot.” Ignoring Kisuke’s mien of utter incomprehension, he tugs Kisuke deeper into the club.

The bar takes credit, thankfully, because Ichigo has no interest in trying to wrangle British pounds when the strobe lights make the numbers on the notes hard to see. It’s far easier to hook a finger in Kisuke’s belt loops to drag him into a better position, slip two fingers into Kisuke’s pocket, and fish out the credit card nestled next to his phone instead.

“Can I convince you to loosen up enough for a drink?” Ichigo half-shouts into Kisuke’s ear, trying to flag the bartender down.

There’s a pause as Kisuke thinks the matter over, his eyes darting around the club like he’s scouting the place for potential danger. Ichigo turns to look at him in surprise, not expecting Kisuke to actually take him up on his offer. “I could be persuaded,” Kisuke answers slowly, thoughtfully. “The participants are… very bold,” he murmurs, his lips nearly touching Ichigo’s ear in an effort to make himself heard. He leans further into Ichigo when another man traipses into his personal bubble in order to flag down the bartender, looking – well, somewhat discomfited, but not overly so.

Ichigo touches his hand anyway. “Are you all right?”

Kisuke jerks his head in a tiny nod, but his attention seems to be elsewhere. Ichigo follows his gaze to see… ah. People were kissing, hands were wandering into places rather inappropriate for a public venue, and more than one man has foregone a shirt altogether.

Ichigo can’t help but laugh. “I do believe your usual choice of top bares more of your chest than that sometimes,” he points out.

Kisuke smirks very slightly. He’s not carrying his usual paper fan, so the overall effect is a little ruined, but being able to see the sparkle in his eyes more than makes up for it in Ichigo’s opinion. “Yes,” he decides.

And then he puts a hand down on the bar counter to steady himself so that he can haul Ichigo in for a scorching kiss.

“Mmpfh!” Ichigo’s mouth drops open in shock, but that just gives Kisuke leeway to force his tongue in, to lick into Ichigo’s mouth like he wants to show the world how far gone on him Ichigo is, and –

His eyes are as wide as saucers when Kisuke lets him go, wearing a pleased little smirk that makes Ichigo consider dragging him back down for another go, the wolf-whistling nearby be damned.

“Our drinks are here.” Pushing the shot glass helpfully into Ichigo’s hand, Kisuke takes a step away and gestures to what can be generously called a _dance floor_ , bringing his own drink to his lips.

Ichigo drags a hand down his face, laughing incredulously to himself. “Holy fuck.” It’s… it’s certainly a change. A _good_ change.

He throws his drink back in one go and follows Kisuke into the gyrating crowd.

Ichigo doesn’t understand the lyrics, but he doesn’t need comprehension to follow the deep bass, to throw his arms up like what everyone around them is doing. The dance floor is packed, most of the illumination coming only from the strobe lights whizzing overhead, and Kisuke has just _kissed him_ –

He backs up, until he’s almost flush against Kisuke. In this position, the only thing he can do without stepping on Kisuke’s toes is bounce up and down. It makes Kisuke settle one hand on his hip, like he’s concerned Ichigo may lose his balance.

It does give him an idea, though.

Ichigo bends forwards slightly, rolling his body in a sinuous wave he sees some of the others around him doing, until his butt is brushing lightly over the front of Kisuke’s jeans.

The hand on his hip grips it a little tighter, almost reflexively, and takes a moment to relax again. Before Ichigo can turn his head to tell Kisuke he doesn’t mind, a thumb slips up under the loose hem of his untucked sweatshirt to rest, very lightly, on bare skin.

Ichigo laughs. He grinds his hips backwards a little harder, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and the vigorous motion sends Kisuke’s thumb slipping past the waistband of his jeans instead, where it smoothes against bare skin and – nothing else.

A spark of shock flashes through Kisuke’s reiatsu, there and gone again, but the fact that Ichigo can even _sense_ Kisuke’s reiatsu at all…

Kisuke’s thumb moves in a little circle, still largely constrained by Ichigo’s belt, and Ichigo shivers when the pad of his thumb strokes over the curls of his pubic hair. There’s a buzzing under his skin, a slow molten flare in his blood as he takes another step backwards, until his arse is pressed up against the cradle of Kisuke’s hips and –

There’s definitely the beginning of a bulge in Kisuke’s jeans.

Ichigo twists around.

“How about we get out of here?” he half-shouts into Kisuke’s ear.

* * *

Ichigo remembers very little of the cab ride beyond snatches of dark, lamp-lit streets and the feel of Kisuke’s knuckles pressed against his bare hip like a brand. He’s definitely half-hard by the time they get into their suite, and he has to unzip his jeans _really_ carefully so that the foreskin doesn’t get caught in the zipper, but there’s no hiding the fact that the front of his jeans is damp with a little more than just sweat.

So, okay, maybe it was a bit of a daredevil decision to forgo underwear tonight, especially when he was wearing jeans as tight as this. Ichigo can’t deny that the results were spectacular, though. Kisuke’s fingers had flexed on his hip, like he had strongly considered tracing the outline of Ichigo’s cock pressed up against the denim, and as uncomfortable as it was Ichigo thinks he might have gotten fully hard if he’d done that. As it is, he already feels like he’s been edged for hours and he needs Kisuke, _now_.

Wrestling the rest of his clothes off, Ichigo looks up just in time to see Kisuke’s bare arse vanish into the bathroom. He’s quick to follow suit.

Kisuke is fiddling with the dials in the shower when Ichigo enters, and while ordinarily Ichigo can appreciate the need to get clean, tonight he doesn’t want to wait any longer. Wrapping his arms around Kisuke, Ichigo grinds lightly against the pert little arse right in front of him.

“Twice today isn’t enough?” Kisuke murmurs into his ear with a soft laugh. He turns around in Ichigo’s hold, and Ichigo shudders as their erections slide together – Kisuke is only half-hard, but Ichigo is sure he can do something about that.

“We were interrupted by dinner,” he reminds Kisuke, even though they hadn’t actually been aiming for a third round at that time. They had just been making out on the couch, and while his body had been vaguely interested, Ichigo had been pretty satisfied to keep things relatively chaste.

That was then, and now…

Ichigo hikes a leg up around Kisuke’s hip, giving himself better leverage. The rainfall shower beats down upon them, water dripping into their eyes and making it hard to see, but he trusts Kisuke to be able to keep his balance. Their cocks rub against each other as they kiss, and Ichigo can feel Kisuke’s stiffen a little further.

Breaking the kiss, Ichigo sighs a little breathlessly, reaching over for a pump of bath gel. The action backs Kisuke up against the wall of the shower, where he should be able to hold Ichigo’s full weight without slipping on the wet tile, because Ichigo really, really wants to _climb him_.

“Lube’s outside,” warns Kisuke, equally breathlessly. His hands settle around Ichigo’s hips, preparing himself for the additional weight.

“Don’t care,” Ichigo mumbles back, more interested in wrapping his legs around Kisuke’s waist, his clean hand braced on Kisuke’s shoulder for leverage. His knee bangs against the shower wall in his haste, but at the same time his cock scrapes against Kisuke’s abdomen, and the pain-pleasure sends shocks of electricity sparking down his spine.

“Mmm, _yeah_.”

Kisuke’s hands slip lower, curving over his ass cheeks, parting them slightly. The feeling of a damp finger tracing over his rim makes Ichigo squirm, nearly forgetting what he’s trying to do.

“Maybe – maybe not put it in me,” he gasps out. He’s not sure if bath gel will actually function as lube, and after working for a while at the Fourth he’s not in a hurry to become the latest advertisement for ‘what _not_ to do during sex’.

Kisuke hums to show he’s heard, although his finger doesn’t stop the repetitive motion, and Ichigo can feel himself relaxing in Pavlovian fashion. He leans down to swipe the bath gel he’s nearly forgotten about messily on his shaft and _oh_ , that feels even better, the slippery glide of his cock against Kisuke’s rock-hard abs making him moan aloud.

Kisuke shifts his grip underneath Ichigo, settling Ichigo’s entire weight on one forearm to free his other hand, and Ichigo’s so dizzy with lust at the display of effortless strength that he almost misses the sound of Kisuke getting a handful of bath gel himself. He tries to lean down to kiss Kisuke, but the angle’s all wrong, he can’t contort himself to reach lower than Kisuke’s forehead.

Maybe this position isn’t that great an idea in practice.

“Let me down?”

Water drips into his eyes, into his mouth, making him squint as he drags Kisuke in for an open-mouthed kiss. Everything is hot, and wet, and Ichigo just wants to _come_.

He can almost hear the last thread of Kisuke’s patience snapping.

He’s spun around and practically slammed up against the shower wall, barely catching himself on his palms in time to avoid smashing his nose against the tile. He turns his head aside just in case, feeling the cool wall under his cheek, a contrast to the heat of Kisuke pressed up against him, hands gripping his hips in a facsimile of their positions in the club.

Except there’s nothing between them now, no barrier to stop Kisuke from thrusting his erection between Ichigo’s thighs, the glide slippery with more than just precome – the bath gel, so that’s what Kisuke wanted it for, and the next thrust almost drives Ichigo’s thoughts out of his head.

His voice cracks embarrassingly in the middle of a moan, but Ichigo is beyond caring.

“You’re so loud tonight, Ichigo-chan,” Kisuke pants into his ear, his cock trapped between Ichigo’s thighs, “enjoying yourself?”

“Ye-es –”

“Good.” Kisuke punctuates his words with another thrust, deep enough that Ichigo can feel the tip of Kisuke’s cock nudge up against his balls. The force pushes him up to his toes, his own cock brushing against the cool shower wall, making him shudder.

He’s so, _so_ hard.

Ichigo takes a step back to give himself more room, bracing his forearm against the wall and presses his forehead into it for good measure, dropping his free hand down to curl around his erection.

“Kisuke,” he bites the words out, “ _fuck me_.”

The next thrust is so hard Ichigo thinks he can feel it in his bones, stars exploding in front of his eyes. Kisuke doesn’t work him up to it, setting up a pace that can only be loosely classified as brutal, the sound of his balls slapping against Ichigo’s arse echoing in the shower.

Ichigo barely has the presence of mind to move his hand, but he doesn’t really need to, the force of Kisuke’s thrusts generating enough friction that all he needs to do is squeeze weakly.

He hopes Kisuke can hold them both up, because his legs sure can’t hold out much longer.

Kisuke pants against his shoulder, sucking little hickeys against the skin like he’s trying to stop himself from crying out in ecstasy. His reiatsu bubbles against Ichigo’s skin, the way it does when he’s on the verge of losing control. Ichigo can feel his own reiatsu rising in response, a tidal wave where Kisuke’s is a web of gossamer threads in the dark, tangible enough to make the overhead lights flicker.

He may have screamed, he’s not really sure. He _definitely_ blacked out for a few seconds there, or maybe it’s just the lights, but when he’s aware again there’s liquid heat running between his knuckles and down his thighs, Kisuke being the only thing keeping him – somewhat – upright.

Ichigo groans, sliding gracelessly to the floor, leaning back against the wall. It puts Kisuke’s – softening, and still glistening with droplets of come – erection almost at eye level, and for a moment he thinks about getting that in his mouth, suckling on it until it gets to full hardness once more.

Kisuke laughs, his voice slightly shaky. “Not young enough for that,” he reminds Ichigo.

Well, it _has_ been three times that day – or is it the next day already? Ichigo hasn’t been keeping track of the time, although Kisuke might know if he bothers to ask. He pats the outside of Kisuke’s thigh instead, gesturing that he should also sit down.

Kisuke folds himself into a neat seiza, legs barely trembling as he straddles Ichigo’s lap, knees on either side of Ichigo’s hips. It brings him near enough for a deep, languid kiss as they both come down from their respective highs, until Ichigo’s ass starts to hurt from sitting on the cold tile.

“We should _actually_ shower,” he says reluctantly. Cuddling in bed is starting to sound like a great idea now that he’s no longer driven by the need to slam Kisuke up against the nearest surface.

Kisuke laughs softly, levering himself to his feet with one hand on the wall – and this time he wobbles. “Yes,” he agrees, careful not to slip again as he turns away to find the knob for the showerhead.

Ichigo admires the view from behind for another moment longer before he too gets to his feet.

This vacation has been a roller-coaster of _great_ ideas so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rajan, rolling over in bed: sounds like the club was a good suggestion

**Author's Note:**

> [cywscross's UraIchi Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/ADFnKTZ#_=_) | [Starrie's fic sneak preview server](https://discord.gg/8yJVmbD) | [Starrie's Tumblr](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com)


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